


You Can Hear The Pavement Burning

by dessert_first



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Multi, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2162310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dessert_first/pseuds/dessert_first
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometime after the whole mess with Victoria, Fraser is still having some trouble letting go. The answer is clearly a threesome. Also, hey, it turns out RayK and Stella have found some creative ways to preserve their marriage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Hear The Pavement Burning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luzula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luzula/gifts).
  * Inspired by [[Vid] Out Here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/176698) by [heresluck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heresluck/pseuds/heresluck). 



> This story owes so much to so many people, I kid you not. Luzula, the most incredibly patient auction fic recipient of all time, for letting me wrestle with it for as long as it took. Nos for being the first reader, beta, sounding board and epic cheerleader when I started toying with this idea and JS Cavalcante for an amazing, richly detailed and generous beta on an early draft. Sisterofdream and Ifreet for being, as always, my most fabulous cheerleading dynamic duo and putting up with getting pelted with multiple drafts over, yes, years. Sageness and Hazelwho for fielding my oddball medical questions about physical therapy and gunshot wounds. And finally, Malnpudl and Boxofdelights for the final beta read that was so needed after all the mucking around and adding on I did after the original wonderful betas had weighted in. 
> 
> In the end, I hope this story comes close to saying some of what I wanted to say, and, you know, I'm really glad to release it out into the world at long last. \o/

The woman is blonde. Her hairstyle is sleek and modern; her cream-colored suit, tailored; and her perfume, light and floral.

Fraser's never been particularly attracted to blondes, but tonight what matters most is that she is different. She's not Victoria, and what she's offering is… is a welcome distraction. One night. A few hours for Fraser to come in from the cold, to make a human connection, to let someone touch him. To touch someone. To lose himself in the taste and smell and feel of someone different, to store up on memories that he will lay over those of Victoria, spackle them over and hope the whole mess holds.

He wants to be able to close his eyes at night and not see her.

Even now, even after everything, he still sees her, still longs for her. During the day, his physical therapy and his work at the Consulate and with Ray distract him, but at night, when he's alone… she's all he thinks about, and he can't bear it.

He just can't bear it anymore.

This woman, this stranger, has offered him a respite for this one brief spell, and Fraser has decided to accept. She leads the way, her steps brisk and confident, unlocks a gleaming silver car and lets him in, takes him home. He follows along like a stray cat.

He doesn't think, distracts himself by focusing on details: the delicate bones of her wrist, the scent of leather from the car's upholstery, the sleek dashboard. She drives them smoothly and efficiently through the dark Chicago streets, ending up in the parking garage of an apartment building in a trendy part of town. She parks and leads Fraser upstairs, nodding at the doorman in the lobby. Fraser cuts his eyes away from the man in his neat red uniform and follows her up into the elevator, down a hall and to her door, not a word spoken the entire time.

"There'll be someone else," she'd said back at the upscale hotel bar they'd agreed to meet at. "A man. You don’t have to do anything with him if you don't want, but you can. That's up to you."

And that wasn't… that wasn't anything Fraser had thought of, _would have_ thought of, but it struck him that perhaps that was better. Yes, much better this way. It would make the distinction clearer, unmistakable.

"All right," he'd said, and she’d smiled.

The door opens suddenly, as if someone inside had heard the woman's keys jangling. The woman walks inside, gracefully slipping past the shadowy figure holding the door open. She reaches up to kiss him, then turns to Fraser.

"Up to you," she says again, and strolls into the apartment, already slipping out of her suit's jacket.

Fraser lingers at the door, staring at the man, who stares back.

"Hey," the man says. He opens the door a little wider, and a shaft of light from inside the apartment illuminates his face.

Fraser finds himself at a loss for words.

The man is long and lean, wearing a tight white t-shirt and worn jeans, his golden hair gelled into a spiky halo. He leans against the door, the curve of his body sinuous, his face alert but calm, watching Fraser. Waiting.

"Your, ah," Fraser stammers. "Your companion—"

"My wife," the man says.

"Oh." He pauses. "Of course. Your wife, ah, extended an invitation to me."

"Yeah," The man grins. "Stella, she does that sometimes."

"I see," Fraser says. "And what—" he pauses, tugs at the collar of his neatly pressed plaid shirt. "What do you do?"

"Me?" The grin widens, slides into an insolent smile, and the man looks up and down Fraser's body, taking in the hiking boots, jeans and flannel shirt. "I do whatever Stella wants." He stands aside abruptly, opens the door the rest of the way. "You wanna come in?"

"I—" He does, Fraser realizes. He wants to very much, so much it frightens him. It's so much better when he doesn't want things with a passion. Passion only leads to trouble, and this strange, seductive man and his bold and confident wife, with their complicated games… Fraser wavers. They _are_ different. They really could not be more different. And he needs that, needs it desperately. "Yes," he says, and steps inside.

The apartment is modern and tastefully furnished, with sliding glass doors leading to a balcony, showcasing a view of the city lights. There is a piano in the corner. It's dark except for the hallway Fraser presumes must lead to the bedroom, which is lit with a warm yellow glow. Further down the hall, he can hear a shower running. The man walks over to the stereo, rummages through a stack of CDs, selects one and plays it. The apartment is filled with soft, sultry music with a Latin flavor, a woman singing. "This okay?" he asks.

"The music?" Fraser blinks. "Yes, it's fine. It's lovely. Is that Portuguese?"

The man looks down, a thick fan of lashes sweeping over his cheeks, then looks back up again, smiling almost shyly. "Yeah," he says, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. "I got a pretty random mix of stuff. Listen, you, uh, want a drink?"

Fraser shakes his head. "I don't generally drink," he says, "but thank you kindly."

He smiles, revealing dimples. "You don't generally drink, huh? So what do you do, generally?" He steps closer, swaying a little in time with the music, as if he can't quite help himself from following along with the beat.

"Not this," Fraser's voice is husky, and he swallows. "Generally."

"Yeah," the man says. "I get that. I'm Ray."

"I'm Const—I'm Benton. Ben."

Ray nods. "Hey, Ben," he says. "You sure you wanna do this?" He tilts his head, and the light from the hallway gilds the tips of his hair, makes his skin look soft and golden.

"Yes," Fraser says, accepting this unusual invitation for the third time this evening, and he can't help thinking of fairy tales and the magical power of the number three.

"C'mon then," Ray says, and his smile has turned dark and anticipating again. He leads the way down the hall, past two closed doors, and into what must be the master bedroom. The bed looks large and inviting, the thick, pale gold covers already turned down. Ray bends to flick on one of the bedside lamps, then goes down on one knee and starts unlacing one of his sneakers.

Fraser licks his lower lip, his gaze pinned on the sure, graceful movements of Ray's long fingers. "Do we wait—"

"For Stella?" Ray looks up and smiles. "Nah, she don't mind. Anything goes, Benton-buddy."

Hesitantly, Fraser closes the distance between them and kneels before Ray, mirroring his position. Gently, he puts his hand on the worn material of Ray's shoe. His fingers brush against Ray's, and the touch is electric. Ray's eyes are wide and blue and questioning. "May I?" Fraser asks.

Ray pulls his hand away slowly. "Yeah," he says, and clears his throat. "Uh, sure."

Fraser picks apart the shoelaces, loosening them further, and pulls on the sneaker's tongue. Ray balances with one hand on the floor, puts his weight back on his other leg and Fraser pulls the shoe off, setting it aside. He pulls off the sock, rolls it up and puts it inside the shoe, then sets his hands back on Ray's now-bare foot. It is long and fine-boned, as slender as the rest of him, looking naked and softly vulnerable peering out of the ragged hem of Ray's jeans. Fraser curls his hands around it, learning the shape of it, and looks up to find Ray staring at him with a soft blue gaze.

"You really don't do this often, do you?" he asks.

Fraser shakes his head, suddenly worried he's overstepped his bounds. 

"Hey," there is suddenly a long, fine-boned hand covering his own, still clasped there on Ray's foot. "It's okay." He pulls his foot away and gives Fraser the other one, lets him repeat the process, looking down at Fraser's hands.

When Fraser is done Ray leans forward to pull at the laces of Fraser's hiking boot, and Fraser closes his eyes and lets someone look after him. Ray draws Fraser to his feet and undresses him gently, brushing his hands over each new area of skin he reveals, setting the clothes on top of the sleek wooden dresser. Fraser leans into the touch wordlessly, into the warm, callused hands on his skin, and avoids giving Ray his back, keeping the sight of his wound to himself just like he did his rank. He can't remember the last time he was touched this way, too long with only doctors, nurses and Jill's physical therapy routine: impersonal, efficient, purposeful touch. Ray's careful exploration feels too good for words. Fraser doesn't want to have it suddenly be about the damage to his body, the scar, the bullet, the story he doesn't want to tell, precisely all the things he is here _not_ to think about.

So he keeps facing Ray, and Ray keeps facing him, and it's no hardship at all to look at that expressive face with its gentle creases from a mouth used to smiling, the crinkled corners of his eyes, the admiring lift of his eyebrows, and Fraser lets himself forget again, leaves it all at the door like a duffel bag packed too full and loses himself in this place, this moment, this person who is so deeply, unmistakably different, wholly new. He closes his eyes and breathes him in, inhabits the moment.

"Oh, Stell," Ray breathes, his hands following the curve of Fraser's shoulder and down onto his chest. "You really know how to pick 'em, don't ya?"

Fraser opens his eyes, confused, and looks over Ray's shoulder at the open doorway.

Stella is standing there, wearing a short blue robe loosely belted at the waist. Her hair, wet from the shower, is darkened with water and drying into loose waves. Free of makeup, her face looks younger, almost girlish, and Fraser feels as if he is being let in on a secret, the person underneath the sleek armour of stylish suits and straightened hair. She is smiling at Ray.

"I picked you, didn’t I?" she says, and steps into the room, her gaze never wavering from her husband's. When she walks up to him and cups his cheek, he turns his face into her hand. She draws him down for a kiss, soft and lingering. Fraser stays where he is, stilling his body completely; afraid to breathe for fear he'll disturb their obvious connection.

They part, smiling softly at each other.

"You are amazing, Stell," Ray says. He turns to Fraser, still wearing that soft smile. Reaching up, he cups Fraser's jaw, his cheek with his thumb. He leans in, pressing his face into the curve of Fraser's neck, brushing his lips across Fraser's skin, making him shiver. "And you… I've never seen anyone like you," he murmurs.

Stella molds herself to Fraser's body, her satiny robe caressing his bare flesh, her breasts pressing against his back. She runs her hands down his arms and tilts her head up to whisper in his ear. "What do you like?"

"I, ah…" Fraser stammers. Anything. Everything. He doesn't want to think, doesn't want to plan and strategize and make decisions, doesn't want to have to split his concentration from the physical sensations, the scents and textures and sounds they are making. He is afraid the distraction will impair his committing them to memory, and Fraser _needs_ these memories. He needs this to be grounded and solid and real, and God, he needs not to have to think about it.

"I don't think he wants to talk, Stell," Ray says, letting his hand skim down Fraser's jaw, along his neck and down to his chest. He brushes his fingers across a nipple and Fraser gasps. "That's not what you're here for, is it?"

Fraser shakes his head.

"C'mon." Ray turns him gently, pushes him down onto the bed, and Fraser gives in with a grateful sigh, lying back on the soft sheets. "Me and Stella, we'll take care of you." He turns and picks Stella up, cradling her against his body, swaying a bit to the strains of music drifting in from the living room like he can't quite help himself. She twines her fingers in his hair and pulls him in for a long kiss, which he only breaks when he sets her down on the bed next to Fraser.

Stella settles in, looking flushed and tousled, smiling as she turns on her side to look at Fraser. "You really are lovely," she says, touching his shoulder.

Fraser's jaw clenches, and her soft fingers immediately soothe it. His breath stutters at the sensation, and he is sure to keep his eyes open. Stella is _different_ , someone new, someone _else_. He inhales deeply, catching her freshly showered scent, clean skin and shampoo and a hint of gardenias. He inhales again, turns his head to look at her. Stella. Stella. She is Stella. She cups his face, smoothes back his hair, her fingers gentle.

He wishes her eyes weren't blue.

He glimpses movement from the corner of his eye, and the mattress sinks on Fraser's other side. Ray is there, and Fraser feels a thrill of something nameless as he looks up at him and this is—this is perfect.

Ray is still fully dressed, his t-shirt clinging to his body, his jeans drawn taut over the lean muscles of his thighs as he kneels there beside Fraser. His hand comes up to cover Stella's, both of them light as air on Fraser's skin. Ray smells faintly of a brisk, cool aftershave, of hair gel and of his freshly laundered shirt. And underneath that, Ray himself, sweet and musky and enticing.

Together, he and Stella draw their joined hands down Fraser's face, over the line of his jaw and down his neck, down to trace his collarbone, glancing over the old childhood scar, up over the curve of his shoulder and back down again, exploring him. Learning his shape. They move in unison, matched as perfectly as dancers, the pace of their hands smooth and steady, no hesitations, no stutters, no veering off in opposing directions. Fraser's breath quickens as they drift lower, awakening. Arousing. A twin touch; Stella's smaller hand, soft and moisturized and manicured, and behind it, Ray's larger, rougher hand, his lightly callused fingers between Stella's a sharp contrast on Fraser's skin.

They bypass Fraser's erection, brushing over his hip and down onto his thigh, and there's a whimper, soft and desperate and sharply cut off, and Fraser is ashamed to realize it came from him. He wants to avert his gaze, but he can't; he mustn't. He can't afford to look away from them.

Ray stops, pulls his hand away, and another hopeless noise slips from Fraser's throat. His vision blurs, swimming.

"Drawn tight as a bow, aren't you?" Ray murmurs. "Don't wanna talk, don't wanna be teased. Yeah, I’ve been there, buddy. I gotcha." He sets his warm hand gently on Fraser's shoulder and leans over him to kiss Stella, trapping Fraser between them, the satiny fabric of her robe and the rough denim of his jeans pressed to either side of Fraser's naked body. When they draw apart, Ray licks his lips absently. "Gonna take care of you, buddy."

He shucks his shirt and tosses it aside carelessly, then lies beside Fraser, his strong body firm up against him. Works a hand under Fraser's neck, slides in to rest his head on Fraser's shoulder, cradling him, and presses a kiss to Fraser's cheek. His free hand goes unerringly to Fraser's erection, grasps it and gives it one long, smooth stroke that makes Fraser gasp. Stella lies against Fraser's other side, pressing a kiss at the edge of his shoulder. Her hand moves across his chest, tugging at his nipples, rolling them between her fingers, slipping up to stroke his neck, down to join Ray's hand, then down lower, cradling his sac, caressing the tender skin there, an unhurried counterpoint to Ray's quickening pace.

Ray mouths Fraser's jaw, his strokes hard and fast and perfect, his grip just right and so different, so very different from the last time someone touched him. Fraser can't help thrusting his hips up into that clever hand, and Ray laughs, his breath puffing softly on Fraser's skin.

"Yeah," he says. "Let it go."

And Fraser does. He pushes up and they hold him down with arms and legs, keep him from flying apart, and there's no danger now, no danger at all if he closes his eyes, because he can feel them, feel both of them pressed against him, feel their hands on him, their mouths on him. Ray tightens his grip ever so slightly, and Stella's hand joins his, cupping the head of Fraser's penis, and he thrusts up, up into their hands, soft and hard and so very kind and he comes with a ragged moan.

The soothe him, pet him, Ray murmuring nonsense in his ear, and Fraser grasps blindly at them, choking on the acrid taste of tears in the back of his throat.

Stella sits up, leans over to open a nightstand drawer and turns back holding a washcloth. She cleans Fraser quickly and efficiently, tucks the cloth away out of sight and leans down to kiss his forehead, gently, bringing the scent of gardenias.

"That's better, isn't it?" Ray's smile is the last thing Fraser sees as he drifts off to sleep, warm and comfortable and safe. He is armed with fresh memories now, and he is not alone.

He doesn't know how long he drifts, but he wakens to muffled grunts and groans. Ray is naked now, and Fraser blinks at how lovely he looks, his slender feet, the wiry muscles of his calves and thighs, the soft swell of his ass. He’s moved over to Stella's side of the bed to settle his body in the vee of her long legs, his face buried between her thighs as she slumps back against the pillows. She is flushed from her face all the way down to her collarbones, her eyes screwed shut in concentration, fingers wound in Ray's hair.

Even in this they move together beautifully, a seamless give and take that Fraser envies. He'd thought he could have that once, but perhaps he is simply not made that way. Not meant for such things.

Stella turns her head, and her eyes are bright and feverish as she catches Fraser watching her. "You can—oh, God. You can touch us—" she says. "You can—" she breaks off in a wail as Ray's hand comes up to join his mouth.

Fraser licks his lower lip. Surely he is not needed here; it is preposterous to think they need anyone else. But he _is_ here, was invited, and perhaps is not unwelcome even now, after his disgraceful behavior—a few touches and he came undone, utterly.

Perhaps now he can redeem himself.

He reaches out, hesitant, places a hand on Ray's back and Ray hums appreciatively. His skin is warm and slightly sweaty, the muscles taut from his exertions. There is a tattoo on his shoulder Fraser hadn’t noticed before, the word “Champion” in faded ink. Fraser dares to trace it with his fingers.

Ray's other arm pistons as he thrusts his fingers in and out of Stella and she gasps and moans and shakes with it, her hair wound in half-dried waves, damp with sweat at the hairline, and she’s nothing like Fraser thought, nothing, but she’s still so very different, and she’s so real.

Fraser strokes Ray's back, making one long unbroken pass down that lean length all the way to the curve at the small of his back, the slight swell of Ray's ass. Ray moans, muffled against Stella's body, and pushes back into Fraser's hand. Encouraged, Fraser repeats the movement, pressing down harder, and Ray feels so warm and alive, all tightly contained energy, vibrant with life and passion. Fraser can feel himself hardening again. It could grow addictive, this. Touching Ray. Fraser should have a care.

But one night, surely… one night is all he's been offered. One night should be safe.

Stella cries out her husband's name, bucks and screams, her body shaking. She falls back against the pillows, panting. Ray plants a kiss on her thigh and flips over onto his back, laughing. Wiping her juices off his mouth, he stretches luxuriously. He is hard, his flushed erection jutting out from a thatch of sandy hair. Fraser stares at it, fascinated. He wants to put his mouth there, taste that secret flesh, make Ray come the way Stella did, shaking with it. He leans in, licks at the salty-sweet skin of Ray's abdomen, and Ray curses. His hands fly to Fraser's head, cupping his skull, caressing his hair, and Ray's body heaves with quick breaths.

"Wait," he gasps. "Oh, fuck. God, I'd love to fuck that sweet mouth."

A thrill of delight, and Fraser draws his lips lower still, darting his tongue into Ray's navel, feels the stomach muscles tighten. His hand comes up almost of its own volition to grasp Ray's erection. It feels so good in his hand, hot and perfect.

And then he's being pushed away, a hard, inexorable hand pushing him away to lie on his back.

“Wait, wait, we got condoms for that, but just--" Ray flips himself over to straddle Fraser's body, and oh… oh, yes. Ray's body, the beautiful, taut length of it, is draped over Fraser's, covering him. "Just let me feel you. Let me—"

He thrusts gently onto Fraser's body, his hard cock, slick with precome, nestled in the soft skin of Fraser's abdomen. It brushes up against Fraser's own straining erection, and Ray plants his forearms on either side of Fraser's shoulders and begins to thrust in earnest. He is shaking the bed with it, shaking Fraser with it, and Fraser holds on to Ray's biceps and feels the strength of his body, the hot, wet drag of him on Fraser's belly marking Fraser, making him breathless. When Ray comes, he buries his face in the crook of Fraser's neck, shuddering, breath hot on Fraser's skin, semen pooling on Fraser’s stomach. Fraser follows with a cry. He feels a sharp swell of gratitude and tightens his grip on the man in his arms, pressing him impossibly closer.

Stella moves in, stretches out beside them and pets her husband's sweat-damp hair, strokes his back. Ray moans in contentment, not loosening his hold on Fraser. Stella reaches a hand into the swampy mess between Ray and Fraser, the pool of their mixed semen, and rubs it into Fraser's skin, delicate fingers working in soothing circles. She looks thoughtful.

Ray's weight on him makes it difficult to breathe and Fraser's back aches near the wound they haven't noticed, his muscles sore from this unaccustomed manner of exertion, but Fraser finds he doesn't care. Still, eventually Stella stirs and smiles at Fraser, sits up to press a kiss to the nape of Ray's neck, and draws him away slowly, off of Fraser and over to her side of the bed. Fraser misses the solid weight of him almost immediately, has to school himself not to hold onto Ray but lets him go and breathes easier for it.

"Mmm," Ray says. He gropes around until his fingers find a washcloth, and he wipes at Fraser's stomach, then his own, then tosses the cloth onto the floor.

Stella guides him over to lie on his side, then spoons up behind him. Ray, in turn, faces Fraser and tucks himself up against him, his body lax and warm, legs tangled with Fraser's, his arm securely around Fraser's shoulder.

Fraser is drifting, more than halfway to falling asleep, warm and drowsy and comfortable, and when he closes his eyes all he sees is the dark, the peaceful, quiet dark. Beside him, Ray and Stella are murmuring to each other, their voices hushed and intimate and full of affection. Fraser lets the sounds soothe him into sleep, Ray's hand trailing a reassuring pattern on Fraser's sweat-slicked skin, back and forth, and Stella's smaller, softer hand reaching across to rest feather-light on Fraser's side.

"Can we keep him, Stella?" Ray asks quietly.

"Don't you think you should ask him if he wants to be kept, first?" She sounds amused.

Ray snorts softly, breath huffing against Fraser's neck. "As if you didn't already know."

Her soft, indulgent laugh is the last thing Fraser hears.

***

Fraser wakes up slowly, almost luxuriously, the morning light making him want to turn his face into the pillow and burrow there. He feels warm and safe, like he's just waking from a lingering dream. He imagines the press of a warm body against him, a kiss on his forehead.

He goes back to sleep.

When he wakes again, he breathes in deeply, then frowns. It smells like sleep and sex and... and gardenias. He sits up, startled, looks around the strange bedroom. There is a slight, lingering ache in his back, in his limbs as if they’d strained in ways he’s not accustomed to.

Stella, and Ray, he remembers. This new Ray. This new everything.

Fraser looks around for his clothes, wonders where they are, why he's been left alone in their bedroom, how much he's overstayed his welcome. He finds his flannel shirt and pulls it on, fingers clumsy on the buttons, steps into his jeans and opens the door Stella had walked out from last night, finding a bathroom decorated in cool blues and greens, almost tropical. There, on the pristine tiled countertop, he finds a new toothbrush, still in its packaging, placed on top of a note that says “Rise and shine, Benton!” with a smiley face.

Bemused, he brushes his teeth, makes use of the facilities and wanders out into the apartment, barefoot.

He finds Stella in the kitchen, wearing an oversized hockey jersey and a pair of stylish tortoise-shell eyeglasses as she frowns down at some papers, the golden strands of hair that frame her face tucked firmly behind her ears, the darker honey-colored waves at the back of her head pulled up into a short ponytail. Her hand is curled around a mug at the round kitchen table, and when she looks up at Fraser she smiles.

"Good morning," she says.

"Ah, good morning. Should I--"

"Stay," Stella says. Her smile tips into something he can't quite recognize, and she pushes out a chair for him. "Ray went out to buy some things for breakfast. We've both been so busy we haven't had a chance to go shopping in a while, so we're pretty much down to a few teabags, half a frozen bagel and some ketchup. On the plus side, Ray's developed a very close and meaningful relationship with our pizza delivery guy."

She grins, and Fraser smiles back, helplessly.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," Fraser says. "I'm sorry, I'm usually out of bed much earlier."

"Are you kidding me? It's Saturday morning, if Ray didn't have to get food and I didn't have these briefs to go over, we'd still be there with you." She gets up and moves towards the stove. "Besides, you looked like you needed it. Tea?"

"Yes, please."

"Gift from my mother," she says, putting the kettle on to boil. She fishes a tea bag out of an open box on the counter and puts it into a slim white mug. "She keeps hoping we'll become the sort of people who drink raspberry leaf tea and go to spiritual awakening trips in the Grand Canyon. But even if we drink the tea, Ray's still a cop and I'm still an ADA, so."

"Well, I do hear the Grand Canyon is quite spectacular," Fraser says, wry, and she laughs as she hands him his tea.

There is a jingle of keys and they hear the front door open and shut, Ray making his way into the apartment. Fraser jerks back away from Stella, feeling awkward and guilty.

"Oh, hey, you're awake," Ray says, grinning at Fraser over his bags of groceries. "Greatness. You wanna give me a hand with this stuff?"

Fraser grabs a precariously dangling bag and sets it on the counter, turning to help with more, stubbornly ignoring the twinge in his back.

"Did you buy out the whole store?" Stella asks, amused.

"I bought real food, Stella, there are actual _ingredients_ in here and stuff that does not require a microwave. And you are gonna want to brace yourself, because some of this stuff has leaves on it, okay?"

"Oh, sweetheart, did you hunt and gather for me?" Stella tilts her face up for a kiss, and Ray indulges her. "Still my hero."

They share a smile, and Ray looks up at Fraser, as if to let him in on the joke. "Fraser, you gotta help me cook some of this stuff or my reputation is shot. And somebody get rid of that tea, I brought the good coffee."

"Oh, thank God," Stella says fervently.

They work together to put away the groceries, Stella exclaiming at Ray's more ambitious choices.

"Stell, Benton's gonna think we're savages if you admit we don't know what to do with bok choy! We got a wok here somewhere, don't we? We are professionals."

"You are a professional detective, Ray," Stella rolls her eyes in Fraser's direction. "I am a professional attorney. How does that in any way qualify us to cook?"

"If there's evidence, we can deal with it," Ray says stubbornly. "We are trained at this. My ma gave us a cookbook and I will detect a recipe."

Stella huffs a laugh as she looks up from greedily packing the grounds into the coffee filter. "Do you even know where that cookbook is?"

"I am a detective," Ray says with dignity. "I will find it."

The groceries put away, they turn their attention to breakfast, bickering amiably about the merits of oatmeal versus cream of wheat until Ray entreats Fraser to cast the tie-breaking vote.

"Well, my grandmother did teach me a very good recipe for porridge," he offers hesitantly.

"There," Ray snaps his fingers. "Porridge. Sold. You got it. What is that, exactly?"

So Fraser ends up cooking breakfast, and only slightly suspects that he's been conned into the whole thing as he inspects the faint dust on their spice rack.

They eat his grandmother's spiced porridge with the fresh fruit Ray brought in and dark, rich coffee.

"Hey, listen, what've you got going on today?" Ray asks when he finishes his meal, pushing aside his empty bowl.

"Well, I have to go home and see to my, ah, dog," Fraser says, to avoid a discussion on canine genetics. "And I do have an appointment this afternoon, but nothing further, really. Unless--I should be going, shouldn't I? I'm sorry."

"No, no, no, I wasn't kicking you out, I just," Ray runs a hand through his hair, suddenly shy, and Fraser wonders where the confident, sensual creature from last night vanished to. "I was just wondering if you wanted to do something today. With me. Stella's gonna be prepping for a trial that starts on Monday, but since I just wrapped up a big case I got the weekend off. So, I dunno, you wanna go walk your dog or something?"

Fraser looks over at Stella. She nods at him with a soft, pleased little smile.

"I--yes," he says. "Yes, I would."

"Okay, great! But first," Ray's smile slides into something darker, a sultry smirk, and he slides off his chair and onto his knees, right between Fraser's legs, his long fingers sliding up Fraser's thighs. "First, I should really thank you for breakfast."

Fraser darts another look at Stella, licking his lip as his gaze flicks back and forth between Ray and Stella.

“Don’t mind me,” she says, her little smile growing wider. She pushes back from the kitchen table, tilting her chair back a little, and adjusts her glasses as if to make sure she has the best possible view.

Taking Fraser’s silence for assent, Ray presses his face to Fraser’s denim-covered crotch. He rubs his cheek against it, making a low, pleased hum. His hands stroke up and down Fraser’s legs, massaging the muscles. He looks up, locking eyes with Fraser, and smiles sweetly, fingers curving down around the backs of Fraser's knees to hold him in a gentle grasp before he lets go.

Ray rests his chin on Fraser's knee and looks up at him through a fringe of gold-tipped lashes. "This okay?" he asks, and his voice is low and deep and oh, it _does_ things to Fraser, it stirs him down low.

"Y-yeah," Fraser whispers hoarsely. "Yes."

“Mmm,” Ray presses a kiss just above Fraser’s knee. “Listen, I gotta use a rubber, you okay with that?” 

_“Anything,”_ slips out and it is the absolute truth, achingly honest. Anything.

Ray looks startled for a moment, then kneels up and cups Fraser’s face in his hands, presses their foreheads together and they just breathe. “Yeah, well,” his voice is a little unsteady when he finally pulls away. “I was hoping you would be onboard for that.” He pulls a condom from his pocket and sinks back down between Fraser’s legs.

Reaching up, Ray undoes the buttons of Fraser's jeans. He parts the fly and reaches in, exclaiming when he finds Fraser's cock bare underneath the denim, pulling it out and stroking the length of it, toying with the foreskin. Fraser groans.

Tearing open the condom wrapper, Ray gently rolls it onto Fraser’s erection. Slowly, he draws Fraser’s cock into his mouth, lips and tongue working, little humming noises escaping. His hands don't still, rubbing up and down Fraser's wide-splayed thighs, cupping his hips, stroking his stomach up under his shirt, pressing down above the thatch of hair, teasing his balls through the fabric of his jeans, soothing and enflaming at once.

Fraser looks up at Stella and she is staring at her husband, cheeks flushed, a few locks of hair having escaped the confines of her ponytail. She darts a gaze up at Fraser and licks her lips reflexively, like she's unaware she's doing it.

Ray sucks Fraser so sweetly, heeding the gasps and moans Fraser makes, following along as if directed in a language Fraser wasn't even aware he knew, and Fraser is afraid to touch him, afraid to break this spell, simply watching the dark blond head bobbing over his lap, his sheathed penis slipping in and out of those glistening lips. Suddenly there is a hand on his, and he blinks up to find Stella kneeling next to them, guiding Fraser's hand to nestle in her husband's hair, all three of them breathing out a single sigh when it lands.

Fraser cards his fingers through the strands, petting gently, hesitant, overwhelmed. He can feel his orgasm building, Ray's hot mouth relentless and so good, so clever, so... he pushes at Ray's shoulder in warning, the best he can do, and Ray pulls off with a wet, delicious slurp, licks once all the way from base to tip and then sucks Fraser down, swallowing around him as he looks up, and Fraser comes helplessly, slumping back in the kitchen chair.

He's still catching his breath when Ray and Stella stagger up to their feet, hauling each other into a kiss. Ray reaches up under the hem of Stella's oversized shirt and almost rips her panties as she struggles to wriggle out of them. Once she's free she pushes Ray down onto the kitchen table, wrestles him out of his jeans and clambers onto him. She fumbles for her husband's cock and sinks down onto it in one long, smooth slide, riding him desperately. His hands go to her hips and hold on, slide around to grip her ass and back around to the front, fingers dipping beneath the hem of her shirt as she keens.

"Your mouth, Ray, your _mouth_ ," she gasps, "Oh, your sweet--"

Ray looks up at Stella as she rides him, her glasses askew and hair a mess, fucks up into her and moans, nodding frantically like what she said makes perfect sense, like he wants to hear more. He turns his head to look at Fraser, gaze darting down to Fraser's mouth, and he licks his lips.

Fraser swallows thickly.

Ray holds his wife still, thrusts up into her forcefully until she comes undone, a high, thin whine marking her orgasm, a harsh grunt signalling his own, and then they're panting, coming down from the high. Stella slumps down onto her husband and he wraps an arm around her, flails the other one out onto the table in Fraser's direction, fingers reaching until Fraser takes them, thumb stroking over the palm of Ray's hand.

***

They rest there for a while, until everyone's breath grows slow and even. Stella stretches, curls her toes and sucks lazily at Ray's neck in a lewd, contended kiss. She's taken off her glasses and set them neatly aside, by the mess of bowls and coffee cups that had--mostly--managed to escape disaster.

Finally she sighs and draws away. " _You_ ," she says, stabbing a finger in the middle of Ray's still-clothed chest. "You need to get out of here, or I will never get any work done."

Ray just smirks, looking lazy and well-satisfied.

"I know, I know," she says, climbing off of him and lithely down onto the floor. "My own fault for marrying such an utterly irresistible piece of ass, huh?"

Somehow, reeking of sex and spread-eagled on the kitchen table with his pants down, Ray manages to shrug innocently.

"And take Sex on Legs over there with you," she tells Ray, pointing at Fraser. "He's distracting, too." She leans over and removes the condom from Fraser’s spent cock, neatly ties it off and kisses him sweetly, then stands up again before he can even start to react. "I'm taking a shower. _Alone._ "

Ray hums noncommittally and lets her go, his gaze following the sway of her hips as she walks away, then rolls his head back in Fraser's direction. "There's another shower, you know," he says in a voice like gravel. He licks his lips. "You and I could share."

"That sounds very... environmentally responsible, Ray," Fraser says, and blinks at himself, startled.

Ray looks just as surprised. "Did you just make a _joke_?" he rasps, his mouth quirking into a grin. "You _did_. You're a regular laugh riot, aren't you, Benton-buddy?" He props himself  
up on his elbows, groans, and then gets up off the table, hitching up his jeans. "You've got hidden depths."

A smile escapes before Fraser can quite help it, and he marvels at it for a moment. He stands up, his back protesting the extended time slouched down in the wooden chair, and lets Ray lead him to the bathroom.

***

Fraser might not have thought this through.

He hovers in the bathroom doorway, rubbing his eyebrow as Ray putters around, setting out fresh towels and turning on the water, testing the temperature. The bathroom is large, with a spacious tub, gleaming tile and metal, fluffy bath mats and excellent lighting.

Fraser hadn't really taken that much notice of his surroundings so far, too wrapped up in other things, but there is a tasteful elegance here, a restrained not-quite-opulence that speaks to a level of comfort and money most detectives and ADAs don't tend to have, but he knows nothing of their backgrounds. One or both of them could have come from money, or earned a tidy sum before changing to their present career in public service, or they could simply be living beyond their means, as some people choose to.

If Fraser had to guess, he would think the money came from Stella--not this morning's Stella, with her rumpled hair and hockey shirt, but last night's Stella, sleek and fashionable, with her tasteful suit and expensive car. That Stella looked like she belonged here, would fit in here, would have chosen this decor from a luxury catalogue or, better yet, consulted with her interior decorator to create it.

Ray is looking at him oddly, and Fraser has to admit he's been avoiding this, this moment, because the truth is--

The truth is, no one has seen the wound on his back, not in the entire time since he was injured. That is, of course, the hospital staff, his physical therapist, they've seen the scar, evidence of the bullet lodged inside him, the damage done to his body, but no one else has. Even last night, Ray stayed facing him the whole time, and while he's not as sure about Stella, she hadn't said anything, hadn't given any indication she'd seen, so he imagines she hadn't, either.

So this. This is.

The first.

Ray shrugs out of his t-shirt, slips out of jeans and underwear, tosses them in the hamper, then turns to Fraser, unselfconscious in his nudity. "You coming?" he asks, tilting his head. "This okay?"

"It's--yes," Fraser says, taking a slow, deliberate breath. "It's okay."

Ray walks up to him, puts his hands on Fraser's chest, his fingers moving to Fraser's shirt buttons. "Tell me if it stops being okay." Slowly, he undoes one button, two, then three, and Fraser closes his eyes and lets him, lets him.

When the last button is eased out of its buttonhole, Ray parts Fraser's flannel shirt and pushes it down off his shoulders, down his arms to puddle at the floor. He undoes Fraser's jeans the same way and helps him out of them, gentle.

"This okay?" he asks again when they are both naked, and Fraser hesitates, then nods.

Ray takes his hand and leads him to the tub, steps in and helps Fraser in after, and Fraser keeps facing him, licking his lip, watching the stream of water plaster down the spikes of Ray's hair, gather in his eyelashes, run down the lean muscles of his body. Ray leans in and kisses him, and they are of a height, just about, and that is also new. Fraser feels a thrill down in the pit of his stomach, a pressure in his chest, and he reaches up to hold on to Ray's shoulders, press their wet bodies together under the shower's warm spray. Ray holds him close and kisses him, and they could stay here all day, safe under the curtain of water, hidden from the world.

"I'm fucked out," says Ray, pulling away from Fraser's mouth for a moment, licking at the point of his jaw. "I gotta--you wore me out, you and Stella. But you can--"

Fraser dares to kiss him again, that warm, wet, mobile mouth that took his cock so sweetly. "Could we just do this, for a while?"

"Oh, yeah," Ray grins, eyes soft. "Yeah, anything you want." He lets Fraser kiss him a while longer, soft and pliant, kissing him back so gently.

When he finally backs away, it's to grab a bottle of shampoo, something that smells fresh and herbal, like rosemary and mint. He pours some into his hands and lathers them up, and when he reaches up Fraser is shocked to find Ray's hands going not to his own dark blond hair but to Fraser's, fingers scrubbing gently at his scalp, threading through the strands. He turns their bodies gently, still face to face, so Fraser is under the warm, fine mist of the shower spray, and tips Fraser's chin up a little, coaxing the suds out of his hair, to coast over his skin and swirl down the drain in a mass of bubbles.

Ray kisses him again, and they get caught for a moment, trading kisses back and forth and coming back for more. Finally, Ray pulls away, laughing, grabs a washcloth and some soap, sudsing them up and then reaching over to run the cloth over Fraser's skin. He washes Fraser gently, his neck, chest, under his arms, his shoulders and biceps, his forearms. Each individual finger gets washed as Ray cradles Fraser's hands, a secret little smile on his face as he gazes down at his work. Fraser closes his eyes and lets him, lets himself have this, just for a little while.

Ray kneels easily to wash Fraser’s lower body, his belly, waist, genitals, legs and feet all receiving the same gentle, thorough treatment. He sets Fraser’s hands on his shoulders to help balance as Ray lifts up one of Fraser’s feet, then the other, washing them with the same care he’d given Fraser’s hands, given all of him.

When he’s finished, he stands up and puts his arms around Fraser, kissing him again, but when he goes to turn him around Fraser resists, hands going reflexively to Ray’s biceps, thumb brushing against the bottom edge of Ray’s Champion tattoo like he can’t quite help himself.

“I don’t--I’m--I,” Fraser stammers, then stops, at a loss.

Ray just looks at him, gaze clear and completely focused, listening. “This okay?” he asks again, when no more words are forthcoming on Fraser’s end.

Instead of answering him, Fraser turns, gives Ray his back, can’t help but look over his shoulder, hoping to gauge Ray’s expression as he sees the wound, mostly healed now but still _there_ , evidence of Fraser’s mistake, reminder of his failure.

Ray stands very still, eyes narrowed as he looks at the wound, and his face is otherwise expressionless. For a long while he doesn’t say anything; there is just silence, the running water drumming down on them the only sound in their close quarters..

“So this is it, huh?” Ray finally says, running a gentle hand down Fraser’s back, fingers skimming near the lump of scar tissue without touching it. “What you’ve been hiding. I wish you’d told me.”

“I--I didn’t--”

“No, I know. I don’t wanna get weird on you, I know we just met.” Ray steps a little closer, and suddenly strong arms are encircling Fraser’s waist. Ray’s body lines up behind Fraser’s, and Ray props his chin on Fraser’s shoulder, on the side away from the bullet wound.

Fraser freezes, then relaxes into the embrace. It feels... good.

“It just looks pretty recent, and I could have really hurt you last night. Is it even comfortable for you to lie on your back like that?”

“It was fine,” Fraser says automatically.

“Well, I was hoping for a little better than ‘fine’,” Ray says, but there’s a grin in his voice. He turns his face into Fraser’s neck, draws his lips up to the edge of Fraser’s ear. “Maybe even ‘okay.’ Should I have been trying harder?” His hand slips back around to Fraser’s chest, and slowly slides downwards. “How about when I sucked you off this morning? Was that ‘fine’?”

Fraser’s breath quickens. “Your mouth...”

Ray nuzzles into Fraser’s neck, dots tiny kisses on his shower-wet skin. “Oh? What about my mouth? Did you like it?” His hand snakes further down Fraser’s stomach, stopping just above his hardening penis.

“Yes.”

“How did it feel?”

“H-hot. Tight.”

“Hmmm,” Ray licks one long stroke up from Fraser’s neck down to his shoulder. “Better than fine?”

Fraser groans. “It was wonderful.”

Ray strokes him off right there in the shower, hand curled around Fraser’s cock, penis pressed against Fraser’s ass, whispering in Fraser’s ear the whole time, asking him questions, telling him to describe things. Fraser talks without much mind to what he is saying, so wrapped up in the sensations: warm water, Ray’s firm but gentle hand, the calluses on his skin providing just the right texture, Ray’s breath hot in Fraser’s ear.

When he comes, Ray takes up the washcloth again, soaps it up, and cleans Fraser with slow, sure strokes, front and back, and doesn’t say anything further about his injury. He doesn’t let Fraser stroke him off, but he hands over the washcloth with a grin and closes his eyes, letting Fraser run the soapy cloth over his body, the intimate touch so novel, so lovely, it makes Fraser feel oddly light, watching the water rinse away the soap from Ray’s clean skin.

They step out of the shower and Ray shuts down the now-lukewarm water. He picks up a clean, fluffy towel and dries Fraser gently, then takes a fresh one for himself.

He lends Fraser an old t-shirt that fits pretty well--Fraser suspects it must be a little large on Ray--some too-tight sweatpants and a pair of socks.

“Yeah, we better take you home,” Ray says, grinning at Fraser in the outfit, tying on the hiking boots Ray rescued from the bedroom. “Not that you don’t look sexy and glamourous in that getup.”

“Thank you for the sartorial advice,” Fraser smiles.

Stella is curled up on the living room sofa, hair damp and wearing a faded Ramones t-shirt and cutoff jean shorts, surrounded by stacks of paperwork, complete with pictures and file folders. She looks up when she sees them coming out of the hallway. “Hey,” she says absently, blinks, and smiles at them. “Going out?”

“Fraser is a busy man, Stell,” Ray grins. “Places to go, people to see, dogs to walk.” He leans over the back of the couch to kiss her, pulls back and runs playful fingers through her hair. “I got that frozen lasagna you like, don’t forget to eat something.”

“Thanks, babe,” she says, attention already drifting back to her papers. “Bye.”

Fraser hovers there, uncertain, until Ray nudges his wife.

She shakes her head. “Oh, sorry. I just get caught up in...” She stands up, leaving her nest of papers, and walks over to Fraser. “Goodbye Benton,” she says, looking at him. “Take care of my man, okay? And let him take care of you too, or he pouts.”

Ray rolls his eyes.

“In the manliest way possible,” Stella finishes smoothly, and grins. “Have fun, boys.”

With one last kiss for each of them, she retreats to the couch.

Leading Fraser out the door, Ray gives his wife a cheery wave goodbye. “Ten bucks says she eats Froot Loops for dinner,” he tells Fraser in an overly loud voice, only to be flipped off by a deeply unimpressed Stella, once again ensconced in her fortress of paperwork.

When they’re out in the hallway, Ray turns to Fraser, hands shoved into the pockets of his black jeans. He’s got a white windbreaker on over a blue Bulls t-shirt, and the same beat up sneakers from the night before.

“So,” Ray says. “Where to?”

“You really don’t have to--”

“You’re not seriously trying to blow me off after all that, are you?” Ray raises his eyebrows, mouth tilting up at the corners in amusement.

“Oh, no, I would never--”

“Okay, so where to?”

Fraser shakes his head ruefully. “Racine Street, please. My apartment.”

“You got it,” Ray says cheerfully, and leads the way to the elevator.

***

“Rebuilt this baby with my dad,” Ray says, patting the side of his sleek black muscle car. He’d made a beeline straight for it as soon as they entered the condominium’s parking garage. “It’s a 1967 GTO, mint condition. Seven coats of paint, built the motor from the ground up.”

“That’s very impressive, Ray,” Fraser says politely.

“Oh, you’re not into cars, huh?” Ray says, opening the passenger side door and waving Fraser in. “Too bad. Stella isn’t, either.” He grins. “Not _this_ kind of car, anyway, but don’t let her tell you she doesn’t love her BMW.”

Ray gets into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, which purrs to life smoothly, then turns to face Fraser. “Okay, so here’s where I let you in on my deep, dark secret.”

“A secret, Ray?” Fraser is intrigued.

“Yep.” Ray leans towards Fraser, pressing close to him, and Fraser goes still, startled. Reaching across Fraser’s body, Ray pops open the glove compartment, rummages around inside, and pulls something out. He backs away from Fraser and waves a slim, rectangular case in Fraser’s direction.

Opening it, he pulls out a pair of eyeglasses with chunky black frames and puts them on, looking over at Fraser with a self-deprecating lift of his eyebrows.

Fraser can’t help but smile.

Ray winks at him, turns on the radio, and drives.

The ride to Racine Street is smooth. Ray proves a skillful driver, if a bit faster than Fraser would prefer. He hums along with the radio, occasionally singing along with a surprisingly pleasant voice.

They arrive in good time, and Ray finds a parking spot near Fraser’s building easily enough. He gracefully slips out of the car to join Fraser on the sidewalk and follows him up to his apartment, hands in his pockets.

At his door, Fraser hesitates. Ray Vecchio helped him back here when he got out of the hospital, but other than that, no one else has been here since... well, since Victoria.

He opens the door and steps aside to let Ray in, squashing down a hint of unrest in the pit of his stomach.

Ray walks in and looks around, curious, until he spots Diefenbaker. “Oh, hey, there he is!”

Dief is lying on the floor by Fraser’s bed, spread out on his belly. His tail thumps eagerly on the floor when Fraser and Ray come in, but he doesn’t get up. Willy has already taken him for a walk and filled his water bowl, judging from the evidence.

"Ray," Fraser says, gesturing Ray into the apartment. "This is Diefenbaker. Diefenbaker, this is Ray. Ah, Kowalski."

Diefenbaker blinks up at them, disinterested, then flops over onto his side to further his no doubt productive morning of napping.

"Hey, Dief," Ray says. "Is it okay if I give him a treat?"

Dief's ears perk up and he bounds over to Ray, sitting at his feet to gaze up at him with the most adorable display of sad eyes in his considerable arsenal.

Ray pulls a granola bar out of the pocket of his windbreaker and holds it out for Fraser to inspect.

Fraser reads the label. “This seems... surprisingly healthy, Ray.”

“My mother in law,” Ray shrugs. “Total hippie. She wants me and Stella to be the kind of people who carry around granola bars and go have spiritual awakenings at the Grand Canyon.”

“But no matter how many granola bars you carry, you’re still a cop and Stella is still an Assistant District Attorney?”

“Exactly.” Ray grins. “Stella already gave you that speech, huh?”

“Something like that,” Fraser demurs. “The bar is fine, you can give him some.”

“So, we going to take him for that walk?” Ray opens up the wrapper, tears off a piece and offers it to Diefenbaker, who snaps it up eagerly. “You wanna change first? I only ask because I do not want to be responsible for any traffic accidents you might cause walking around in those pants. They’re made of the least sexy material on the planet, but you’re making them look like someone spray-painted you with Lycra.”

“Well, it would appear my neighbor already walked him, Ray, judging from the evidence,” Fraser says absently, going to fetch a clean pair of jeans.

“Evidence?” asks Ray.

“Well, you see, Ray, the leash, which I normally store looped in the counterclockwise direction, appears to have been looped in a clockwise rotation before it was stored.” He finds the jeans and some boxers, too, and sits on the neatly made bed to unlace his hiking boots.

Ray looks at him oddly. “Stella must really like you.”

“I beg your pardon, Ray?”

“She doesn’t usually like to mix work and play, but you’re a detective, aren’t you? Did you meet at a trial?”

“Ah,” Fraser says. “Not quite, no. She came to the 27th precinct to discuss a case with our Lieutenant and two of the detectives in Major Crimes. We’d seen each other before, but this time she struck up a conversation, and eventually, ah, invited me to meet her at a hotel bar.”

“So you’re in Major Crimes?”

“Well, my partner is.” Boots removed, Fraser stands and hesitates. Ray just saw him naked, just _bathed_ him, has made him come three times in the last twenty-four hours. Changing out of Ray’s own sweatpants in front of him seems almost laughably innocent compared to all that. With a mental shrug, he removes the sweatpants and pulls on underwear and jeans. “I’m actually a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I work as a liaison with the Canadian Consulate and assist Detective Vecchio with his cases when I can.”

“Right,” Ray says thoughtfully. He opens his mouth, then closes it, and Fraser can practically _see_ him swallow back a question about Fraser’s wound.

“So,” Fraser says heartily, putting his hiking boots back on. “Diefenbaker, would you like to go on another walk?”

Diefenbaker grumbles, but goes to wait by the door.

“That seems a bit harsh,” Fraser tells him, under his breath.

Ray just follows them back out the door, saying nothing, to all appearances deep in thought.

Fraser leads them to a park he likes, and Diefenbaker runs about, happily terrorizing the local duck and squirrel populations.

“I haven’t been to this park,” Ray says, strolling by the lake alongside Fraser. “Not since I was a kid, anyway.”

“Oh, did you grow up around here?”

“Not far. We didn’t have a lot of money growing up.” He shrugs. “Still don’t, but Stella does, and she likes her comforts. We used to fight about that a lot, me and Stella. I had this idea I should be able to give her all that stuff she wanted, you know? Keep her in the manner she was accustomed or something. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but cops don’t make that kind of money. Not the honest ones, anyway.”

“No, I suppose they don’t,” Fraser says, carefully not thinking of that bank notebook with his father’s name on it.

“But in the end she just felt like I was punishing her for something that wasn’t her fault, wanting to live on my income when she could just _have_ all the nice things she wanted. She didn’t need me for that. My mistake was thinking that meant she just plain didn’t need me.” Ray shakes his head, blue eyes focused on a family of ducks making their way across the still surface of the lake. He looks over at Fraser, a half-shy sideways glance, and smiles. "Me and Stella, we've found sometimes to make things work we gotta think outside the box."

***

Afterwards, they drop Dief off at Fraser’s apartment and go out to lunch, deciding on Chinese.

"I don’t eat meat,” Ray says, when Fraser asks if he wants to share an order of beef with broccoli. “My father worked at a meatpacking plant when I was growing up, and the smell, you know, the blood, the misery, it was...” He shakes his head. “How about we each get our own dish?”

“They have a very good ma po tofu,” Fraser offers instead. “And an excellent Szechuan eggplant. More than enough for two.”

Ray’s eyebrows lift in surprise, and his smile turns almost shy, like a secret. “That sounds great,” he grins. “That would be greatness.”

Fraser beams back, and waves the waiter over.

***

Ray insists on driving Fraser to his physical therapy appointment that afternoon, and waits outside until Jill is done with him.

“Who’s your new friend?” Jill asks as she guides Fraser through his exercises. “He’s cute.”

Fraser says nothing, but he can feel the tips of his ears growing warm.

“You _dog_ ,” Jill says admiringly, and insists on giving Fraser a high five.

Fraser lets her.

***

Ray takes Fraser home afterwards, hovering at the door, oddly shy.

“Listen, Benton,” he says. “I know Stella probably told you, uh, you know, one time thing and all that.”

Fraser’s heart sinks. “Yes, she did,” he says, voice as light as he can make it.

“Right,” Ray nods. “Right. But, uh, what if it wasn’t?”

“I... what?”

“What if we could do it again?”

“Which part?” Fraser asks, at a loss.

“All of it,” Ray says, and Fraser is reaching for him before he’s even finished saying it, and Ray pulls him close like he’s been waiting for this, kissing him with a sweet knife’s edge of intensity, and in that, they meet in the middle, they speak the same language.

They stumble to the bed together, panting into each other’s mouths, Ray pulling at Fraser and Fraser pulling at Ray until they tumble onto the mattress.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” Ray says, skimming a hand along Fraser’s shoulder. “Let me know if I hurt you.”

Fraser nods, intent on kissing Ray’s mobile mouth, tasting faintly of ginger, of spearmint chewing gum, of _Ray_.

Ray rolls underneath Fraser, then winces and turns them carefully onto their sides. “Is this all right?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Fraser says, reaching for him.

Ray frowns. “I need to know if it’s okay, Benton. You have to tell me.”

Fraser just nods blindly, eyes shut tight, curling into Ray.

“Okay,” Ray finally says, kissing Fraser, his eyes, his forehead, his cheekbones, temples, his mouth, heartbreakingly gentle. “All right. I’ve got you.”

***

Afterwards, Fraser lies on his stomach, feeling blissful and calm. The shape and taste of Ray’s kisses still linger in his mouth; the feel of the hot, hard length of him seems almost branded into the skin of Fraser's hand. Ray lies beside him, tracing feather-light lines up and down Fraser’s skin, the muscles of his arms, his shoulders, the small of his back.

“This is a bullet wound, isn’t it?” Ray asks quietly, skimming up Fraser’s spine.

“Yes,” Fraser says, closing his eyes.

“It’s real close to your spine,” Ray observes, voice still low, careful.

“Yes.”

“You said you're working cases with Major Crimes, right?” Ray asks. “Was it on the job?”

Fraser feels his throat close up, thick with tears or with regret, with the sense of his own failure. With the shame he can’t seem to shake, these days. “I... yes.”

Ray hums.

Fraser can’t tell if Ray believes him or not, but he doesn’t contradict him.

“Did they catch the guy?” Ray finally asks, a hard edge of something in his voice.

“What?”

“They guy who shot you. Did they catch him?”

Fraser starts. “He--he didn’t--he...”

“Okay,” Ray says, “Okay.”

“He,” Fraser licks his lips. “He turned himself in.”

“Right,” says Ray, and holds him close.

Later, Ray gets up, calls Stella on his cellphone, and tells her he’ll be spending the night with Fraser. Fraser stays in bed, listening to the low rhythm of Ray’s words, and lets it soothe him back to sleep. When Ray’s warm, lean body slides back into the bed and nestles up against Fraser, Fraser turns to face him, tracing the Champion tattoo on Ray’s shoulder in the dim street light filtering in, and drifts off to sleep.

***

Sunday morning, Ray peeks into Fraser's refrigerator and shuts it quickly, making a strange choking sound.

"Ray?" Fraser asks, concerned.

"Benton-buddy," Ray says. "Me and Stella are pathetic workaholics, okay? _You_ are recovering from a gunshot injury. You need real food, not one lonely Tupperware and a bottle of ketchup. For starters, I am taking you out to breakfast."

"You don't have to--"

"Oh, no," Ray says, kissing Fraser for long, delicious moments. "You wanna get rid of me, you're gonna have to say so." He backs away and looks at Fraser, his smile fading, his gaze direct. "Seriously. I know I can be a lot to take, so just let me know when it's too much, okay? You'll be doing me a favor, I swear."

Fraser smiles, hesitant. "All right."

"Greatness," Ray beams. "So, had enough? Need a break? I can just," he jerks a thumb in the direction of the door. "That's cool. You probably have stuff to do, you got stuff to do?"

"Well," Fraser hesitates, looking around his apartment. The bedding needs to be changed, he should really do some laundry, and it's true his refrigerator has lately been swinging an odd pendulum between overflowing with Mrs. Vecchio's carefully labelled containers of homemade Italian food and, when those run out, not much else. A trip to the grocery store would probably be wise. And yet... "I did just receive an offer to go out for breakfast."

Ray laughs, delighted, and kisses him again. "I am _so_ taking you out for breakfast. I am taking you out for so much breakfast, you have no idea." He presses himself up against Fraser's body and draws him in for more kisses, the two of them snickering like schoolchildren into each other's mouths for no good reason at all.

***

After breakfast, Ray takes Fraser back home to Stella, Dief riding in the back of the GTO, nose pressed to the window.

"Hey, babe," Ray says, dropping a kiss on the top of her head when he comes in. "How'd it go?"

"You think you're a grown-up," Stella says, wry. "And then you realize you just pulled an all-nighter in sweat socks and an oversized t-shirt and had Froot Loops for dinner."

"So you're ready to kick them in the head, then," Ray says, satisfied.

"Absolutely," she says, and yawns. "I'm gonna go crash." She tilts her head. "Is that a wolf in our living room?”

“Ah, half-wolf, actually,” Fraser says, tugging his ear. “You see, Diefenbaker is--”

“Aw, who’s the cutest half-wolf ever?” Stella coos, heading over to scritch behind Dief’s ears as he pants up at her adoringly. “ _You_ are, Diefenbaker! _You_ are!”

Fraser blinks. "I... must admit I hadn't really pictured that reaction."

"I know, right?" Ray grins. "Stella's got a soft spot for us mutts, don't let her tell you any different."

Stella doesn't bother answering, too busy rubbing Dief's belly as he lolls on his back in blissful doggy surrender.

***

They spend the day lounging around the apartment. Ray lets Stella catch up on some sleep, Dief electing to nap at the foot of the bed in sleepy solidarity (and possibly in hopes of more belly rubs in the near future). Despite Fraser's protests, Ray helps Fraser do the laundry he'd insisted they bring over in a duffel bag-- _"Fraser, don't go to the laundromat, that's dumb, we got a washer and dryer in the apartment and I gotta go make sure Stella's, you know, showered and has a solid meal, it's a thing after one of us pulls an all-nighter like that."_

They kiss and neck like teenagers on the couch until the timer goes off on the dryer.

Ray makes enormous sandwiches for lunch on warm whole grain rolls, stuffed with thick slices of avocado, sautéed peppers and onions, crisp lettuce, juicy tomatoes and store-bought hummus and olive paste. He drags Stella out of bed and presses a sandwich into her hands, making sure she eats it all, topping off her iced tea. The three of them crowd onto the couch together to eat the sandwiches and dip carrot sticks in extra hummus.

Stella and Ray bicker cheerfully over what to watch on TV, finally settling on a film they both seem familiar with and are quite vociferously outraged that Fraser has never seen, which appears to revolve around the comical adventures of a trio of gunslingers in mariachi outfits.

After they eat, Fraser insists on doing the dishes, leaving Ray and Stella to finish the movie on their own. When he's done, he finds the living room empty of everyone except Diefenbaker, snoring contentedly in his cozy nest where he had crowded in between the sofa and the coffee table, eating the bits of food Ray kept sneaking him.

Hesitantly, Fraser walks down the hall. The bedroom door is open, and when Fraser walks in the first thing he sees is Ray lying naked on the bed, the long, strong muscles of his arms bunching as he clenches his hands around fistsful of twisted sheets, moaning steadily as his wife mouths at his cock. Fraser makes a low, startled noise and starts to back out, but they both look up at the sound and he is frozen, standing there in the doorway. "I--I'm sorry, I--"

"Benton," Stella smiles, unselfconsciously naked. Her lips are slick and shiny and her pink tongue darts out to lick the corner of her mouth. "Come here. Come see what Ray likes."

Ray lets loose another moan at that, almost as if it's ripped from him, and Fraser walks forward, fascinated. "Where should I--I don't want to interrupt."

"Believe me, you're not interrupting," Stella says. "You're enhancing." Her smile turns wicked and she keeps her eyes on Fraser as she lowers her mouth back onto Ray, licking a long, slow stripe up the entire hard length of him.

Fraser is walking towards the bed even before he has consciously made the decision.

"Kiss his mouth," Stella says. "He loves that."

When Fraser nears him, Ray lets go of a handful of sheet and grabs Fraser's hand instead, pulling him closer. "Heya Ben," he says, his voice heavy and slow with arousal. "What took you so long?"

"I was just--"

Ray cries out, his grip on Fraser's hand tightening. "Ah, ah, Stell!"

Stella doesn't answer, just keeps working on Ray's cock, and Fraser really does want to see what she is doing, to learn what Ray likes best, but he has a task. Fully clothed, he stretches out onto the bed beside Ray and places a hand on that taut stomach, the straining muscles of his abdomen. He kisses Ray, who sighs into his mouth and melts into it, letting the kiss swallow the sounds Stella keeps pulling out of him. Fraser wants to see but he can't stop, can't break the kiss, wants to devour Ray with an intensity that almost frightens him.

Finally Ray breaks away to breathe and Fraser lets him, looks down Ray's long, lean body to see what Stella is doing nestled between Ray's legs.

Stella is busy licking Ray slowly, thoroughly, kissing Ray's cock like Fraser imagines she had kissed his mouth before. She sucks him, then pulls off with a leisurely air, toys with him with her hands. There is a soft look of concentration on her face as she gently cups Ray's balls and bends to mouth at them, sucking one, then the other gently into her mouth.

She pulls off and wipes her swollen lips with the pad of her thumb, smiling wickedly at Fraser as Ray groans. "Come over here," she tells Fraser, her voice low and inviting. "I want to show you everything."

***

Monday morning, Ray drives Fraser to the Consulate. They sit in the car for a moment, idling at the curb, Diefenbaker lounging in the backseat.

"I'll drop off your laundry at your apartment tonight," Ray says softly.

"Thank you, Ray," Fraser says, flushing. He's not sure how many torrid threesomes end up doing laundry together. But then, Fraser supposes having a threesome in the first place is unconventional enough; there must be ample room for variations in execution.

"Uh, listen," Ray says. His gaze dips down, shielded by his lashes, then he looks up at Fraser through the chunky frames of the eyeglasses he wears to drive. He is heartbreakingly lovely. "This weekend, it was amazing. You're amazing."

Fraser blinks. He was not amazing. He was lost, he was wrecked, he was sunk in sadness and guilt and regret, he was...

He was happy.

With Ray and Stella, he somehow forgot those dark, heavy feelings, he managed to focus on the present instead of constantly rethinking his choices, his ill-fated journey with Victoria. He had held on to the two of them and they had pulled him out, if only temporarily.

Fraser thinks he likes feeling this way, something fragile and new and yes, amazing, cupped into three pairs of hands, gently, like it might bloom.

"I don't want to stop," Fraser blurts, then bites his lip.

Ray breaks into a smile, wide and happy. "Oh, thank fuck," he says. He holds Fraser's hands. "I know this is crazy, I know I shouldn't keep you. You should be out there, doing your thing, meeting new people, but I." He rubs the back of his neck, self-conscious. "I feel like we’ve been waiting for you, you know? And I got, uh, feelings, I got all sorts of feelings about you, it’s... it’s kind of awesome. So, uh, would you date us, Benton Fraser? Me and Stella?"

Fraser finds there is only one answer to that, but he is too busy kissing Ray to verbalize it. As Ray enthusiastically returns his kiss, Fraser thinks he understands.

Ray breaks away and presses their foreheads together as they both just breathe. In the back seat, Dief snorts inelegantly and rustles around, settling in more comfortably, and Ray grins.

It feels oddly fitting, Fraser thinks. This strange journey began when he accepted an offer from a lovely woman, got into her car and walked into her life, somehow, if just for an evening. Now, sitting in a car with a lovely man, her counterpart, he cannot fathom being ready to just walk back out again without a second glance. 

This is his heart. These are all their hearts, doing something dangerous, something stupid, something wonderful. Just a few nights ago, Fraser would not have thought himself capable of it, not after Victoria, not so soon, perhaps not ever again.

But then, he never could have imagined this, either. He was looking for a distraction, a respite, a night safe from the cold, from his memories. 

What he found... well.

He supposes they’ll just have to make it up as they go along, and for the first time in a long time, that feels all right.

Finally, Fraser pulls away and steps out of the car, pausing to let Dief out. 

“See you tonight,” Ray says softly, eyes bright.

“Tonight,” Fraser promises, shutting the passenger side door.

Ray pulls away from the curb and drives off to work, and Fraser stands there for a moment, watching him.

“This could crash and burn terribly, son,” his father says, suddenly appearing next to him, bundled against the nonexistent cold. 

“I know,” Fraser says, eyes still on Ray’s car driving off.

“And it’s far from conventional.”

“Well,” Fraser shrugs. “We’ve never really been the conventional sort, have we?”

“That’s true enough,” Bob admits. “Still, there will be a lot of questions from the neighbors.”

“I suppose there may be.”

“But.” Bob pauses, and Fraser turns to look at him. “I think they may be good for you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Fraser smiles slightly. “I think so, too.”

He turns and walks into the Consulate, Diefenbaker at his heels.


End file.
